


Chasing and Hunting the Moon

by LittleArtemis707



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: F/M, Multi, Self indulgent so I mean here we go, Shiro will be here too, This oc is involved with a lot of other things so get ready for that shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleArtemis707/pseuds/LittleArtemis707
Summary: A collection of a bunch of stories that have to with the startling realization that I can ship who I want with who I want as long as it hurts no one.
Relationships: Angor Rot/Original Character(s), Angor Rot/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	1. A terrible first time

**Author's Note:**

> For Tina, who held me at knife point to share this ❤️

Pond water was not a particularly riveting thing normally. But overtime she’d learned to appreciate the interesting liquid. She liked the little snails it brought on its current to her door. This part of the house was a bit lower than the other side. And easily had a deck built into it that reminded her of illustrations of koi ponds. The body of water was mere steps from the door, and had a little ramp that dipped under the surface to allow her familiar easy access in and out. The pond itself connected to a running stream of clean crisp water that on most days, she walked across the planks of smooth wood to. She and Ophelia often had lunch at the opening of the pond right by the stream. They liked to watch little fish leap into their pond. And sometimes collected stones along the stream bend. 

Tonight however, Arty walked along the beams to the spot alone. Her footfalls were always light but she kept them even lighter, not wanting to disturb the slumbering familiar in her pond. 

She walked along the stream until it bloomed into a full river with sweet clear water. The moon itself was a sleepy eye, watchful over her as she trekked and trekked. Until she found a water drainage pipe. 

It was far bigger than her, and the little trickle of water coming from itsuggested it hadn’t been used in some time. She dug into her bag, and took out a hand of white rocks to scatter over the mouth. Then knelt and carefully sprinkled a mix of sea salt, white sand, and soft dust in wide arcs. Connecting each section of rocks in scalloped edges. The sand was so light, she couldn’t recall how it felt in her hands. 

She hummed quietly to herself as she went about the task. Feeling the wind suddenly die and the energy around her grow tense and predatory. Her woods whispered to her. Their voice odd and tangled like her beloved blackberry briars often tangled with her prized roses vines. 

_** “Thrice found. Twice lost. The hunt begins at a cost”  ** _

A warning. But it might mean anything. A stray wolf. A hunting falcon. Hell even a frog looking for a nighttime snack. Behind her the stream had its  burbling interrupted. Like something just behind her was stopping it. 

_ ‘ Could be a heavy frog’ _ she thought to herself more as a joke than a actual Hope. 

“ Ah. There you are.” She said nonchalantly. Her fingers had a tremor of excitement to them as she dusted them off. Her nails were perfect. As she willed them to be. Of all things, her hands she was particular about. 

She stared at them, watching as the edges blurred and returned to focus. Listening for the voice.

“ There you are.” Parroted back a voice rough with dust. Coaxing and threatening all the same. 

‘ ** _Definitely not a frog’_**

She packed her stuff back into her bag, and stood. She was a short woman, she stood barely at 5’1. He must’ve been something giant, for how high up his molten gold eyes were. 

She thinks he very much has the eyes of some lonely fae man. With the energy they gave, he might be part of the solar courts.Maybe unseelie. 

But she knows no fae would be so subtle. That if they wanted something from her, their game would’ve been both longer, and she would have less of a choice to play or not. 

He wasn’t looking at her at first. His eyes flitting about. Like he wasn’t sure where he was. And when she shifted her bag on her hip, a jar made a gentle clack sound. 

His attention came back to her and he stood there Staring. 

“ You have not fled.” He murmured, not in a gentle way. But In a way that suggested irritation and...disappointment. 

“ I’m busy.” She replied, so fast she forgot, she was supposed to be mortal. Mortals were..unnerved by strange voices in the woods, things beyond their understanding. He was at the very least in-between. Maybe downworlder. But very clearly, not human. 

His skin was ash and smoke, his mouth was defined clearly, with pronounced tusks and piercings. The rest of his body was abnormal to mortal men. Stumps for feet, and long, strange fingers she found herself itching to see better. 

His eyes still, grabbed her attention more.

He made a sound and pushed past her. His skin was rough. Stone. 

Her mind sorted through its own compendium, stone skin. Stone skin. Nocturnal. The odd shape of him that was very inhuman, but human. 

“...You are a troll.” She said simply, then gasped when he stepped and disturbed her salts and rocks. 

“ Hey! That’s a cleansing spell! It needs to sit overnight!” She quickly tried to fix the messed marks. 

He did not respond for a long while and she didn’t realize until the salt and rocks had been righted. Then she looked up and flinched. He’d Knelt a little, and was a breath away from being too close to her. 

“...What sort of creature are you?” He asked. Even though she could tell he already knew. 

“..I’m...Um.” She stopped when he reached a long hand out, he hooked it into the choker at her neck. 

“ A fetter.” He mumbled. His mouth moved odd, he spoke starting with the left side of his mouth, then moving to the right. He pronounced the word too, different. ‘Fehhder’ is how he said it. But she knew what he meant all the same. 

When she swallowed, she watched those glowing eyes follow her throat bob. And he tilted his head. 

“ How could you tell?” She asked, reaching to gently push his hand away. But he only moved it slightly, letting go of the choker, but not pulling away. Most believed it was simply a fashion accessory. It was hard to think otherwise. The band was a simple, velvet black. 

“ Interesting. That you could find me when I am hidden. You seem far too foolish to see properly.” 

She squinted. Yes, he was glamoured. Terribly so. If he was properly done up, she’d only see blurrs at his edges. But his was too sharp in some places, and too watery in others. Like glass sinking under a wave. 

“..Where did you get such a cheap glamour?” 

Across his black lips came a smile. One that frightened and set something at ease in her. “ Feisty. For meat.” He reached and lazily caught a strand of her hair. He did not yank it, did not caress or twirl it. But stared at it as if it held all the answers in the world. She did not move again to remove him, she’d learned a while ago that this sort of touch and grabbing was more than often than not, a intimidation tactic. Or, for more tortured beasts, a simple need for touch. It was a primal drive, and her monsters often were denied cruelly that one easy obligation. 

“ It was a old spell I learned ages ago. A carving into old bark, burn it, and spread the ashes over myself.” 

Arty’s brow furrowed. “ what of the smoke?”

He blinked at her. 

“ You’re supposed to breathe In the smoke a little. One deep inhale for one hour. Two for two. Then you take the ash and mark yourself with the same rune from the wood before you burnt it. Stars, did you learn that in a restroom behind a sonic?” She asked, annoyed at her craft being butchered. The last time someone did so, he’d gotten a straw in his eye for thinking you could summon a sex demon and not be it’s main infatuation. 

He still stared at her and she huffed. “ it’s a glamour spell! Smoke and ash obscure together, tying it back to the source of them helps keep the spell in a loop so it doesn’t fade or flicker.” 

“...is that what you use?” He rumbles after a moment. 

Arty blinked and looked at the strand of deep coffee black hair in his claws. 

“ I don’t wear a glamour.” 

. Some days, she almost forgot the smooth skin and dark hair was a fabrication. When she was younger, she’d stare into a mirror and watch her eyes change shape and color on her own whim. It had been like watching a wave wash and shift a pile of shells among the shore. Once, she’d given herself actual horns instead of the intricate hair ones she wore. 

He yanked the strand and she felt only a sting of pain before the strand came free to his grasp. The length changed in a wave of color. Like a mirage disappearing. And in his hands settled a length of straight, ivory colored hair. 

“ Liar” he rumbled, not angry. But sort of pleased. 

She felt minuscule. More than normal.

“A witch who changes the world she touches. A very interesting game.” He looked over the strand of ivory and rubbed his thumb over the length of it. “ I promise to make your death swift. Even though you’ll die without me caring to know your name.” 

She huffed, and tried to stand with her chin high. He stayed kneeling, his shoulders dropped in a way that suggested he was being weighed down, but not by anything she could see. Here, for once, she stood above a creature of night. 

His eyes burned with something that she didn’t not recognize at how she stood above him. Maybe fear. But it was as tiny as the sand grains stuck to her polished black fingernails. 

Again. ink swelled across the page of him. And the sun itself seemed to come to life in his eyes. 

“ I am Angor rot. And I have never hunted such..interesting prey.” Infact, his eyes burned so much they almost were blinding. She squinted and tried to shield her eyes with blurring hands. “ What..What is that?” Though she didn’t know if she asked, or he did. 

The barest light touching her eyelids made them flutter open. And here she was. Laying on a dirty floor. The world was spinning and her body felt heavy and filled with wet sand. 

Angor rot was looming above her. Mouth soaked in blood, and chained to the floor by his wrists. She was close enough that he did not have to strain against the bindings.

“ You’ve brought me a witch.” He rumbled. Mouth moving just as it did before. 

His burning eyes were Looking up at a man that was devastatingly familiar. 

He’d come into her shop often, buying a coffee and sometimes buying more interesting novelties. He’d been kind, and calming. He’d even tipped Ophelia once or twice. He had cream colored skin, a intensely romantic nose, salt and pepper hair, and a almost dreamy accent. 

She couldn’t recall his name. Only that he’d been near recently. 

She remembered him whispering a apology. 

“ I’ve brought you a gift. I felt a actual human would’ve been...insulting.” He crooned to the ancient pair. 

He held up his hand, showing off a very unorthodox looking ring. 

“ Do what I need done. And I can find you better, and give you what you want most in this world.” His eyes now were glowing, intense like a boiled eggs yoke. He was hungry for a positive answer. 

She wondered if she’d be able to stand boiled eggs again. 

Pain was different for her. As a witch, her body could withstand so much. But it blossomed so quickly from where a chunk of her shoulder felt like it was missing, she actually gasped. 

“ And the girl?” asked the steady voice, rough voice of her fellow crafted. 

“ All yours I suppose. Shame if she was to die, she makes excellent lattes.” 

Angor rot snorted. And looked down at her again. There was something there. Like pity. Familiar pity. And perhaps a kinship. 

“ I am bound to you, changeling. By the ring. But know when I am free, the hand it rests on will be mine.” His eyes turned back to the very inhuman person steps away from them. 

The troll killer went about unshackling himself, and then stepping over her body as it slowly healed. He grabbed a staff from the other piles of rubble in what she assumed was a tomb. Then hefted her onto his shoulder. Like she weighed nothing. Arty let a groan out as he moved her. And he only patted her rear before following the newly minted ‘egg man’ out of the massive room they were in. He was going on about how they had a lovely place to stay to wait out the daylight, then they’d travel a bit and end up back in Arcadia. The room was fading with her vision, but she could smell it. Angor rot himself smelled very much like rain soaked stones. But the room? 

It smelled old, but not unpleasant. Like rainwater. 

Like pond water almost. 


	2. Vyapaar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kinship is formed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey it’s super late when I post lemme know if there’s a spelling error here or there! Also thank you for the support!!! I didn’t think anyone besides like me and my buddy would wanna read this!

It looked awful, but it was healing.

It’d been six days since they returned from the tomb of Angor rot in what she assumed was Cambodia. She’d been so exhausted she’d slept nearly the entire trip back. She was currently standing in front of her mirror, examining the bite wound over her neck and shoulder. Her hair was tied up high on her head in a confusing knot of waves and silk strands. Today she’d kept it soft rose pink, to balance out the blue under her eyes and the exhaustion greening her face. Other than her hair, little of her remained glamoured. 

She’d hardly bothered to get out of bed, exhausted as she was. She’d worn a simple oversized shirt and underwear, but that was about it. Her fingers lightly danced over the bruising pale skin. Though her back and shoulders were mostly a mangled mess of old scars, she could still feel the healing thrum of her gift around the crescent wound. The dull ache was something she didn’t question. It didn’t confuse her.

What confused her was why she was even still alive. 

Walter strickler had no reason to keep her alive. Neither did her new ‘cohort’.

Strickler however, did have a leash on her. 

It had been a rotten trick, he’d given her tea laced with a special hex. One that was rare to find and harder to get right. 

He’d used the bones of a witch named Kellisa. Who arty remembered only a little. She had Sad Grey eyes. 

Apparently Kellisa Quaterlock, the witch of Zealots of the coven of Danes, had bones that tasted very much like lemon. She wondered if all Dane witches had bones that tasted like lemon. She wondered what her own bones would taste of. 

Either way, she and the fallen witch now shared a bone binding. A strong one. So strong, she thought sometimes she could feel the other, reaching out from the great below. 

It also meant by calling the name of her fallen witch sister, that Strickler essentially would call her. As if he had the whole name of the lunar witch. 

Thankfully, he had not called her yet. 

Ophelia, her familiar, came into the room at that moment. She loved her Ophelia very much. They had chosen eachother very early in their lives. 

Ophelia was not like any other creature in her size. She was a lot like a crocodile and a snapping turtle combined. Her eyes were deep black and green, and her skin was rough in most places. She thunked her tail against her mistress. She was missing a little bit of her scute along the edge of her shell. From when Arty wrangled her from a birds mouth when they were both little. 

“ Yeah. It looks worse than it feels.” She replied, knowing what Ophelia was asking. “ How’s the store been?” 

The turtle let out a grunt and sort of gurgling sound. She winced and knelt to her familiar. Who right away took the chance to stretch out her ancient neck and land it on her good shoulder. 

She wrapped her arms around her Ophelia the best she could. They’d hugged often, but it was usually Arty draping herself over the turtle and Ophelia wiggling to get away. Taking the witch with her. 

If the creature could speak, she knew what she’d say. 

“ Artemisia Selene Kingstrom, if you leave me again and or get kidnap I will call your mother and you’ll be in big trouble!” Because Opps and Arty had no one but eachother out here. The turtle had half dragged her into the house when she got back. The mice had swarmed and let out a cacophony of scared squeaks at how weakened she was. She’d thought the ancient troll assassin had carried her in the house. But she was sure if he had, her house would’ve been more of wreck. 

“ Alright. Ophelia. Let’s find out what we’re dealing with.” 

  
  


—-

  
  


Her house was on the outskirts of the city. Right against the ‘river’ and wood. But she was still surprised how fast the subway guy delivered her sandwhich, and did not question why a single woman needed three chicken bacon ranches with extra green peppers. He simply just smiled, took a tip, and left. 

Arty sat on the living room floor, everything she needed spread out. Books about trolls and changelings, ancient tombs about witch bindings, soda, sandwiches in tiny time capsules that would keep them from getting too soggy, and her TV on with old Dr. Phil reruns playing. Ophelia had gone to BrightTower, to give her some time to recuperate and to visit their other employees. 

Like most witches, Arty had a close connection to animals. But unlike others, she could glamour any animal into looking like a person. And rarely did witch knowing animals snitch on their mistress to the other townsfolk. 

The mice were a culmination of brown field mice and white feeder. She also employed rats as her main ‘managers’ for the store. In return, she paid them in food, safety, and a place to live. Under her home, or in the store closer to town. They were surprisingly clean and did not destroy the attic at the bookstore. They’d fashioned it into a rodent paradise, with fairy lights and old dollhouses as their own. They were smart, and loyal and very brave. She did not know in totality how many they were strong, but when they’d liked to have names, she’d write it in a special book and let them put their paw print in it next to the flourishing letters. 

Arty had her leg stretched out far as she set to looking through the books, her couch was the best place for her to think, to work. Walter Strickler was obviously changling, a creature between in every sense. But her own compendium was lacking in exactly what type and what his motivations could be. Trolls were like humans, like witches. They often had vague overviews of their kind, and rarely dove into specifics. 

“ Gunmar the black” she said to no one in particular “ Is a notable member of the species, a bloodthirsty warlord that we do not write as a monster. Monsters kill for protection, for self preservation. Gunmar kills because he simply seems to enjoy it.” She murmured. Closing the book and setting it aside she checked the next book. Gasping when the ‘notable trolls’ section had a name change. “ Kanjigar is the current trollhunter, a title given to the protectors of the race. Much like a Halo, a champion, or a Crone...” she skimmed along “ Offer your hand to him if he asks for help. For in doing so ensures peace. Faaaaack” she groaned and moved on. 

Nearly every book had a notable names of trolls, but NONE of them seemed to change. And each had more or less the same description in every book.

Gunmar the black

Queen Usurna 

Gatto the keeper 

Dictatious Gladrigal 

Kanjigar the brave and current trollhunter. 

Vendel, leader of trollmarket 

Bular, Son of Gunmar. 

She shuddered at that one. Fearing the worst for his conception. Wondering if even gunmar, as terrible as his crimes listed, was capable of love. 

She wondered also, how outdated her books were. 

She did dig into what being a ‘trollhunter’ meant. Though they served as protectors of their kind, it very little had anything in common with Halos of the crown, Champions of Olympus, or Crone witches. 

Halos were trained and selected for such training because of their kindness, prowess in battle, and love for their Ruling Empress. Champions of Olympus were hand picked by the gods, and served one and one only. Crones were even older than Arty herself, and used their ancient wisdom to love and nurture and protect their younger daughters. 

Artys face twisted when she saw who created the amulet of daylight. And she shut the book quickly. Leaning her head back and sighing. 

“ What are you?” She asked aloud. “ What the hell kind of creature are you, strickler?” 

Like her dream, where the woods whispered soft, strange things. She felt a shift in the world around her. Like as if the sun had set, and she’d been bathing in its light. Not dreadfully cold, but a change. 

“ He is a changeling. A halfbreed troll. A stolen human child was put in his place in the darklands, and he was given new form.” Said the clawing hands of a unearthly dream. 

Artys eyes shot back open, she hadn’t realized they closed and she was looking upside down at another person who should be in a notable section of Troll kind. 

Angor rot was staring down at her. Eyes hungry. 

Her shoulder throbbed. 

But she sat frozen for a moment before slowly folding herself back up, and turned around to face him. She still was dressed down from their first meeting. And she wished she’d bundled herself tighter. Maybe wore a bra. Done her hair better.

He stood still as can be. But seemed smug about something. 

“ Are you here to kill me?” She blurted. 

He blinked and his inky mouth swelled. 

“ No. Not yet.” 

“ Oh. Well, when you do, make sure to do it outside. That way I can haunt the forest.” 

He snorted at that and moved to walk around the couch, eyes dancing over the effort she was giving to understand what exactly she was dealing with. 

He scooped up a old tomb, it was priceless in value, and on loan from the covens own library. Part of her hoped he’d be able to point out any errors. His black claws danced over the writing, done in the hand of some far gone witch. And paused. The book was open to the section about kanjigar. He opened his mouth a crack. Arty leaned forward, wanting to hear what wisdom or information he might let slip. If anyone knew about the details of troll kind, surely it was him. He lifted a finger.

And tore the page out with a flex of his hand. He swallowed it faster than she could realize.

Arty sat stunned, then panicked. Logically, she should be cautious, should worry and not approach him. But all she could feel was the need for justice for the book. 

“ What are you mad?!?” She demanded, her voice more shrill than she’d like. The witches hands were quick, and she swiped away the book. Despite him being a redwood, and her being a pitiful champignon.

“ This is on loan! And it’s very old!” She let out a sad little sound when she took in the missing page. He’d torn it so perfectly all that was left were the words 

“Kanjigars” and “ Dil” and “ Do” 

“ This is history in ink and paper! Someone spend so much time to put this together! And you ate it!” When she looked up at him again, he looked very very amused. 

“ It is very old. Kanjigar has been dead for at least a few moons. And Bular is not among us anymore.” 

She blinked and tilted her head. 

“ How do you know that?” She meant it gently, but it came out more of a desperate inquisition. 

“ Our captor has informed me of such. He’s given me the task of tracking the newest trollhunter. And to use your services to reach that end.” He acted as if this factor, that he knew more than her, Was a fantastic victory over her. It made sense, if Strickler employed her for her blood and magic, and Angor rot for his own special set of skills, that he would know more about current Downworld events than her. 

In a way. He did have victory over her. 

“ My services?” She tried. Gentler. More cautious. It was dangerous enough that they knew she was a witch. If they knew her gifts things might get worse for her. 

“ The changeling says you have connections to the humans in this town. Specifically, the girl the current Trollhunter is trying to..court.” 

Her brows furrowed. “ A troll is pursuing a human?” 

A small shake of his head, his eyes closing for a moment. Arty remembered herself, and called up her glamour. Just to hide her scars, and the white of her hair. 

“ The trollhunter is human male. The first. He’s young and Pursing a human girl, Stricklander says she often is in your shop.” 

Her mind flew in quick beats. Like a humming bird looking at every flower. 

There were a handful of regular girl customers she had. 

A strange girl named Aja, who talked in a delightful accent. Darcy Scott, who often came in with her father. (Who arty had possibly a tiny crush on, after all he was goofy and charming). And Claire Nunez. Who often came alone to study. She was sweet as can be, and stressed beyond belief. Arty had once asked her if everything was ok, and for a lack of a better word, the poor girl had word vomited. She’d spilled every anxiety and insecurity she’d ever had in a span of five minutes. 

Including her want to date a boy named Jim.

Who was A strange and awkward kid, but one she found endearing when he confessed he didn’t know how to order Claire’s favorite drink, and begged for her help. 

  
  


“ What would you use her for? Bait?” She was prepared to lie. To anger him and face whatever wrath came with it. She would not give him names. Even if she was spelled to. 

“ There is something I want, something the trollhunter can give. “ that pleased glean came to his eyes. As if he could sense her resolve. As if he was gleeful she would fight him. “ I already know their names and faces. But, I need your face to assist me with a few things.” 

“ And if I refuse?” 

She supposed she could play along, but she didn’t want him getting any ideas he could just boss her about. 

“ Oh I hope you do. I hope you refuse right up until I snap that fragile neck of yours. “ It was a threat, one that meant to be horrifying, but it was less so as he moved and dropped himself onto her couch. 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. 

“ You threaten me a lot for someone who does not look before they sit. “ 

“ and you think you bark when you really chirp. If you...agree with me. Then I’ll handle the changeling for you. Unless you’d rather handle him yourself.” 

She gave him a nasty look, and he simply reclined back. Eyes half lidded. 

She flinched at that.

He had carried her inside. He’d placed her on her bed. Because he’d given that same expression when she’d been swimming in and out of waking.

Angor rot seemed to notice her realization, and was up again. 

“ I’ll summon you. When it’s time.” And he stepped through a inky black portal. 

Just like that. She was alone again. 

—-

BrightTower books and novelties was a slow paced sort of business. So when the trio of high schoolers burst through her front door like a long running river after a storm. She dropped the stack of books she’d just organized. 

Toby, Claire, and Jim. Each breathless as if they’d just ran from some unseen predator. 

Idly she wondered if the hunt had began. 

Toby, slapped a five dollar bill onto the counter along with his backpack.

“ Lady! We need your biggest bottle of Wormroot that this can buy!” He demanded. Claire and Jim nodding in agreement. Jim added a “ it’s super urgent “ and claire offered a delicate “ please”.

Arty raised a brow. 

She was back to her regular glamour, with dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. She’d been careful about the amount of green she left in them. She had wanted to make her eyes grey and hair ashen too. But she felt something comfortable and familiar was less time wasted. 

She clicked her tongue and looked over the bill. It was wadded and torn in a spot. She lifted it up and placed her both her sets of index fingers and middle in the center of the bill. And ran them opposite directions. 

The bill smoothed itself out into crisp perfection. A simple charm of restoration. 

The kids gasped. And she offered it back. Toby snatched it up excitedly, and was deflated to see it was the way it was before. 

She waggled the real bill. 

“ See! I told you she’s the best magician there is!” Claire squeaked. Excited by the slight of hand. 

Toby looked dumbfounded. “ But...What level of magic are you even doing?!?” 

“ I’ve had years of practice.” She said with a smile. With a snap of her fingers, both bills were in her hand again. 

It was slightly exhausting in the condition she was in to weave her glamours like this. But it helped her focus her mind on something other than the ache of her shoulder. 

“ And this also won’t get you squat.” Arty crushed her palms together, and made it into a ten dollar bill. “ This however will get you....” 

she turned and grabbed a bottle of wormy essence, and three little carved charms. 

“ A bottle of Wormroot. And a Cerberus charm.” She offered out the objects to the kids. 

“ What’s a Cerberus charm?” Jim asked. Looking over the one she handed him. It was a carved stone dog, each made in a midnight blue stone. 

“ It’s a special trinket, stronger when in threes. It’s supposed to guard each wearer while they sleep and guide them or discourage them when the need arises. Supposedly, they come from a lost civilization of people who were both stars and children of the gods in mortal form or something.” It was a easy dismissal. But the stones were genuine. 

Better if they didn’t know.

Claire looked over hers. The eyes of hers were silver, rather than simple stone. 

“ Would they...help us find something? If we needed it?” She asked in a hopeful little chirp. 

Arty tilted her head. Her horns were messy today, and she pushed back a free strand of them.

“I suppose they would. You’d have to show them a lot of love though.”

Claire nodded, cradling her charm gently. 

“ Crap!” Toby all but yelled. Looking at his phone. “ we’re gonna be late!” He cried as he ran from the store, not caring about change. 

Jim and Claire gasped, and followed him out. Each taking a moment to put on their helmets and get on their bikes. 

Jim looked up into the shop window again. Eyes wide for a moment when he looked at Arty. But he shook his head and waved. Then they were all off. 

It wasn’t until a half hour later that she realized what Jim was so entranced by. Arty was humming her old song. One that was her own; and her mothers. It happened often that the melody found her. Reminded her to use her voice. Especially when the shop was empty. 

“Once a king, dressed in red.” 

She scooped up a stack of new arrivals. 

“ Warmed on the flames of a feathered bed.” 

She sorted them alphabetically. 

“ While all the town starving, cried.” 

She bummed until her favorite part. 

“ Upon a spike, we pear-“

She was organizing her register when she turned and spotted something in the glass orb on the desks reflection. She turned quickly to face him. 

Angor had been situated far in the back, behind her counter. Out of the way and so still she wouldn’t have noticed him, but he’d lent forward. Making himself more obvious. His gaze burning and hungry, like he’d grown both annoyed and ravenous in the past hour. 

Fine. If he was going to be strange, she would out do him. 

She pressed the small of her back against the counter, bracing her arms on the surface and arching her body a little bit at him. “ See something you like? Remember you break it you buy it~ or at least buy me dinner.” She made her voice breathy and whimsical. 

He snorted at her and then in the most god forsaken menacingly way, stalked towards her. He came closer and closer until he was damn near pinning her. She had to lean back in a uncomfortable way to not break eye contact with him. With his restraint her feet almost didn’t have to touch the floor. She realized she hardly reached his chest, and he had to hunch to properly look at her like this. His horns nearly knocked into hers.

They stared long at eachother. His unflattering coldness against her (possibly. She’d heard her sister was a ass to work with) genetically hardwired need to always win. 

Then he reached and she was sure he was going to grab her hair and lift her buy it, but instead at the last moment, he grabbed for something out of her view. And for a moment she was damn near bent backward over the counter because of him. But he wasn’t smothering her. He wasn’t trying to crush her. Just trying to prove a point she supposed. 

Then he pulled away all at once, and dropped the backpack on the floor at her feet. 

“ We’ll have to return this.” He rumbled. Watching her as she took a moment to breathe, then lean down and scoop up the bag.

Arty let out a small groan. 

“ You want to attack the school?” 

“ I want to...” he looked a strange mix of surprise and frustrated. Exacerbated maybe. 

“ I want. To...Observe.” He finally decided. 

She sighed and went to close the shop. 

——

Despite how nefarious he seemed. The plan was harmless. 

They were testing the boy. 

She’d dressed comfortably. Leggings, a cowl hoodie, and her hair left down in braids. She kept her skin tone the same, her eyes however were the same black and yellow as Angors as she leaned against the tree they stood at. 

“ Are you mocking me?” He rumbled as they watched James lake Jr make his first attempt with the golem. 

Arty was pleased he tried to negotiate with the creature. Golems were simple things, but rarely got respect in that aspect. She did not mask her surprise when he summoned forth the sword of daylight and it’s armor. 

They were on a literal field, right outside the school. She wondered what Angor rot had in mind for this location further down the road.

“ It’s so we look like a unit.” She replied. Not peeling her eyes away from the boy as he fought. Her hair was grey as his stone. And she’d made herself look taller. But Angor found her eyes easily.

“ You could’ve at least glamoured him.” Crooned a familiar and spine straightening voice. 

Angors shoulders shifted, so she couldn’t see Strickler as he walked up. The man snorted at the golem. 

“ I brought you back to handle him yourself, not to outsource the job to a golem.” He hissed. 

“ He bested the son of Gunmar.” The taller of the three crossed his arms. As if it was a answer . 

Strickler ‘hmph’ed. And turned to walk away. 

“ Well. At least you two look adorable together.” He meant it as a sort of insult, half hearted and it infuriated her. “ If you want to insult us at least do so when we aren’t busy.” She snapped back. 

She was surprised when he walked away still. 

“ He’ll make you pay for that.” The troll mused. Eyes still focused on the human as he fought. 

“ Not if you break and buy me first.” She crooned back. Mocking stricklers accent. 

It must’ve been funny, because he literally rolled his eyes and chuckled. 

“ Eyes up witch. Unless you wish to invoke Vyapaar.” 

She didn’t know what that meant, but the moment she broke her focus from the boy to glance up at him again, she caught him looking at her. 

They both looked at eachother for a heartbeat, and before she could ask what he meant, they heard a labored ‘HUUUIUUYA!’ From the trollhunter. 

Apparently golems weren’t built to last. They both made a sound of disappointment as the boy found the totem, and broke it in two. Then, he looked around for them. 

The assassin did not have to ask for them to be glamoured, Arty had done so unintentionally. 

“ Come.” He ordered. As he turned and used that odd staff to create a portal. The witch paused, her glamour stringy as she unraveled it. 

Along Angors shoulder, under the armor he wore there, was a crescent shaped shadow, a bruise she supposed. Her own ached a bit as she was reminded of it. Whatever had harmed him, it must’ve had a poor attack. Because it was healing very well. She didn’t recall any marks on his shoulder when he carried her out of the Temple. Then again she’d been half conscious and loosing a good amount of blood. 

She hadn’t had a good look at it at all, and still didn’t get the full picture of it. 

But it looked  **_awful_ ** . 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vyapaar is a term coined by @storiesfromunicron from rps we did! All credit for the title goes to her so thanks ya!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy, don’t worry I have a lot more for these two.


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